


(Don't) Play With Your Food

by Troubadourk



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Blood Drinking, Comedy, F/F, Fainting, Gen, Hemophobia, M/M, Supernaturally induced euphoria (similar to drugged sensations), Swearing, Vampires, mention of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27056833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Troubadourk/pseuds/Troubadourk
Summary: "Karkat, you need to feed. I am offering you a consenting meal, practically on a platter. Stop being picky and eat your food.”In which Karkat is extremely bad at being a vampire, because of course he is.Dave's got him, though.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Comments: 13
Kudos: 94





	(Don't) Play With Your Food

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS:  
> Lots of describing blood as food/drink (for comedic purposes)  
> Scene with descriptive blood drinking  
> Mentions of injury and fainting
> 
> If any tags/warnings need to be added, please let me know. Otherwise, enjoy this silliness. Happy Halloween!

“I’m not going.”

Kanaya doesn’t react to you at all. No sigh, not even a flicker of attention in your direction. She fusses with the oversized bow at her throat and snarls when her mouth bumps it, leaving a tiny green smudge on the cream-colored fabric.

You bat her hands away and manage to dab it off with your thumb, and she throws her head back dramatically, finally acknowledging you.

“You do not have a choice in this matter. You are going to die. You are already _dying._ ”

“I am already dead.” You correct, and Kanaya is back to ignoring you. She slips into shoes that make her already-tall-ass significantly taller, and then looms over you all long and thin like the monster she literally is.

“I have inconvenienced myself greatly for your benefit, and will consider it a major personal insult if you do not follow through with this matter, Karkat.”

Well _fuck_. She is taking absolutely zero percent of your bullshit today. You sit up, eyebrows raised, and magnanimously ignore all of your very pressing personal problems to focus on your friend.

She’s overdressed, even by her own standards. Her nail polish is perfect, but her cuticles are dry and rough, and she’s smoothing one hand over the other, a tiny pinch visible on her otherwise perfectly smooth forehead.

She’s worried—about you, yes, you know that already, but you suspect there’s more.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” It’s a bluff, but you stare her down like it isn’t. Her eyes widen.

She folds in the middle, all delicate and composed, and sits down on the chaise. After a tense moment of silence, she hesitantly speaks.

“You are aware, of course, of my dear friend Rose…” she begins, and you can’t help it, you snatch her busy hands and hold one between your own. No doubt she can feel how cold yours are, can probably even sense the stiffness of your joints, but she settles her hand in yours with a slight smile. “She is considering the possibility of…of Turning.”

She pauses like you’re going to blow up at that. Maybe you would have, if it were anyone other than Rose Lalonde—I mean, just the name alone—Rose, really? It’s apt. Everything about her is apt. She’s a human, and she’s a better vampire than you by leaps and bounds.

“The matter is undecided, and her brother has some concerns. He has…offered…to act as a donor, and as I am bonded with Rose…” Kanaya shrugs, her velveteen blouse shifting noisily. “I saw an opportunity to solve two problems at once.”

Your mouth hangs open, and _now_ you’re going to blow up, but Kanaya uses her free hand to snap your jaw closed. “I also chose you because you are the only one I can _trust_ , Karkat. I know you won’t drain him dry, or Turn him for kicks.” She spits out the last word venomously.

“Kanaya, oh my _God._ ” She winces. You push yourself off the chaise and very nearly faint from it, but plant both feet firmly and spin around to face her, frowning deeply. “Her _brother_ , for Christ’s sake!”

“Karkat, the—the _ho-ly names_ , please.”

You bite down the desire to list all 12 apostles and maybe break into a doxology when you’re done. Barely. “What if something goes wrong, like it always does? No, it’s not a matter of _if_. What about _when_ something goes wrong, and I can’t feed, and I fucking die and maybe so does this stupid hell-damned moron?”

“Things have never gone quite so disastrously before. Karkat, you need to feed. I am offering you a consenting meal, practically on a platter. Stop being picky and _eat your food.”_ She growls. 

You stare at her accusingly a moment longer, trying to hide how hard it is for you to remain standing. With a curse, you pull your shirt over your head and throw it at her feet. “Help me get dressed.”

* * *

This is decidedly not your scene.

It’s dark as fuck and the shades stay on, thank you very fucking much, so you’re practically blind. The only music playing is some kind of shoegaze feedback-filled bullshit that makes you grind your teeth, even though it’s so quiet you mostly just hear the repetitive thump of the bass. There’s so much incense burning you wonder if you’ll ever smell anything besides Nag Champa, ever again.

And there is nothing to fucking do except wait around for some dude called Karkat to pop the top on your cherry soda and send you to Nirvana, if your sister’s version of events is to be believed. You highly suspect there’s some carnal activity involved in _her_ experience with this, so the account is doubtful. 

You’re totally in your head, trying to ignore this awkward and boring ass scene while working on a rap about sexy vampires when a decidedly unsexy one clamps a cold ass hand down on your shoulder, startling you so bad you almost drop your seltzer.

You can make out a tan face and a pair of big, haunted looking eyes, which narrow at you suspiciously.

“You’re Dave, right? Is that fucking La Croix? You’re gonna taste like shit, aren’t you?”

You don’t know why, but you can’t say anything. You can’t seem to move. You feel weirdly insulted that this dude just said your heart juice was anything but the sweetest vintage. The weird feeling dissipates, and you shrug his icicle hand off of you.

“If you got a problem move along, shortie. I don’t have to give you my delicious Mountain Dew Code Red, I’m doing you a favor.”

Those big dark eyes close, and you think you can see him taking a deep breath—you don’t know how he can stand it, with all this smoke in the air. When he opens his eyes again, they slant away, and he gestures for you to follow him.

You can’t help it—you hesitate. Here it is. Shit is going to get very real. This weird little dude is going to chomp your ghostly ass Pacman-style and drain you like a Capri Sun. Shit might hurt. It could kill you. You wrap both hands around the can you’re holding, trying to cool them off, and down your drink.

The guy—Karkat, what a name—doesn’t come after you. He’s just standing near the exit, looking at you steadily, swallowed up in a button-down t-shirt and what _should_ be skin-tight jeans. They manage to look baggy on him.

You shuffle your way across the room, and follow him through the door.

* * *

This.

“What the fuck, dude? You don’t like my cherry Kool-Aid? My sweet, sparkling Cheerwine?”

This is.

“Wanna Fanta, Karkat? Don’t you wanna?”

This is too much.

“Shut the _fuck_ up!”

Your screeching just makes this asshole laugh harder. 

It’s been fifteen minutes. Fifteen lousy, miserable minutes since you got this asshole to finally follow you to a safe place for you to feed. He’s already under a dark smock, his neck swabbed clean and marked with a spot for you to bite that won’t murder him.

All you have to do is—

All that’s left is—

You just have to—

“How the fuck can a vampire be _scared_ of blood?”

Dave really cracks himself up. You’re pretty sure you’ve never seen Rose do more than chuckle wryly, and only when she’s drunk—liquor drunk or just-got-drunk-from drunk, or both. Her brother lacks such poise. He’s wearing Crocs. You actually _want_ to bite him.

“First, I am not scared of blood. I just have to prepare myself properly. Drinking from humans is fucking unnerving, and if you had any sense of decency you could understand why. Second, I’m not a nutcase like your sister—I didn’t _ask_ to be this way.” You feel yourself start to pout and turn it into a scowl instead. Your stomach is cramping, and you really can’t afford this stage fright right now. You lost feeling in your toes this morning.

“How’d you end up a blood junkie, then?” Dave questions, relaxed and cheerful. You can hear the quiet, steady splish-splosh of his pulse, rhythmic and soothing and delicious. Your fangs finally (painfully) descend, and you stalk toward him.

“None of your goddamn business is how. Let’s get this over with.”

Despite your fury and hunger, you still wait. And that’s always been your problem. But Dave doesn’t back out—his pulse picks up, scrumptious and alluring and sharp, you can taste it already—but he shifts to make room on the bed and tilts his head obligingly.

“Tap my ass then, dude. Get you that Big Red, baby. Fay-go for it.”

You bare your fangs with a growl and surge forward, sinking your teeth into his pale neck. There’s nothing for that horrible second as you’re breaking the skin, and then there’s _blood_ , there’s two twin streams of ruby, and you close your eyes tight and pull it down, down, down—

Down, down, and your head swims. Don’t think about it. Your toes are tingling painfully, and your hands are throbbing. You manage to swallow one, two, three, four, five times. It’s a new record.

That’s enough, it’s enough. It’s done.

You pull your mouth off of him—he’s talking, his hand moves to his neck, you see it like you’re in a dream, a nightmare, you see the red staining his fingertips, god, you—

You pass out, flopping backwards onto the bed.

* * *

You realize too late that running into a room of vampires with an open, bleeding wound isn’t the smartest, but you’re pretty sure Karkat is dead. _Dead_ dead, maybe.

Also, you feel fucking _great_ , like walking on sunshine great, like you’re spewing rainbows and the sickest slam poetry. Everything is bright and colorful, but not in the migraine-inducing way it usually is when you—oh, right, your shades are off? Oh well, that’s cool. Everything is cool except your mellow is super harshed by the fact that Karkat is dead.

You somehow manage to find your sister, parked in a corner and doing something you are way too blissed out to even consider thinking about. You snap your fingers and do a jig to get her attention, and then remember you can talk.

“Ra-ohs. Rose. Rose!” You yell the last part because your stupor breaks long enough for you to remember you’re panicking, and so you scream the next part too. “Somethin’ bad with the kat man, dude, you gotta help Karkit-kat, help! You gotta help!”

You continue on like this while Kanaya drags you from the room with haste, Rose following behind.

* * *

“So.”

“Shut _up!_ ”

“You…ffff.”

Dave’s laughing again. You realize with no minor irritation he looks handsome even while guffawing like a moron—maybe even more so than when he isn’t. You let your true eye color come through and snap your teeth at him like a dog.

He’s unaffected. “You faint at the sight of blood?”

“And the smell.” Kanaya supplies helpfully. You’d snap at her too, but you’re on thin ice after this night’s earlier events, so you settle for sinking lower into the couch cushions and wiggling your newly rejuvenated toes.

“How do you even sur-viiiive?” Dave’s still high as a kite, even now, because whoop-de-doo, that’s the effect _you_ have on people. Karkat Vantas, the world’s only born vampire. Behold his power.

At least you have your fingers back. You show a certain one to Dave, who giggles gleefully in response.

“Are you sure you want to get involved with this sort of nonsense, Rose?” Kanaya asks tiredly, reapplying her lipstick flawlessly sans mirror.

“Dude, you joking? Shit’s fire.” Dave flops sideways into your lap, and oh fuck, there’s blood on the bandage he’s wearing. Your head swims and you push him into the floor.

Rose smiles, ignoring her brother’s whines. “Dave’s worries seem to be assuaged. I believe we are go for nonsense.”

* * *

“Seriously, Karkat. I’m straight up _telling_ you to do it.”

“I know what you’re fucking doing, it doesn’t actually help!”

“Dude.” You grab Karkat’s flailing arm but let go immediately when he winces. He’s actually ice cold, stumbling, how the _hell_ does he live like this—

“I—okay. You don’t want to bite into my strawberry Gusher? Not feeling that sweet sangria, Karkitty?” You waggle your brows and purse your lips and do your damnedest to be annoying as fuck.

It’s working. If Karkat wasn’t drier than the Sahara, he’d be red with anger right now. He still manages to seethe. “Shut your trap, Dave, you’re not helping here.”

“Maybe you want that savory shit? It’s Ragu-d stuff, babe. Gochujang? More like gochudang, that’s some yummy fucking life sauce. Tomato soup.”

Karkat just stares at you blankly. “Did you just say tomato soup?”

“I’ve been drinking green tea all day. I’m chock full of antioxidants. Hawaiian Punch a hole in me and let’s get down to Flavortown.”

Karkat roars at you like a particularly pathetic lion, fangs dropping down, and you think _score_ before you’re tackled to the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> "Coffin door creaks open ominously*  
> *I flop out face first onto the floor*
> 
> Leave comments to bring me back to life


End file.
